A Soul Contrite
by SilverMoonLady
Summary: Stream of consciousness reflections of Merry and Pippin on leaving Moria.


A Soul Contrite  
  
January 1419. Approaching Lothlorien.  
  
I have never seen him like this. Shoulders bowed, eyes fixed to the ground, running heedlessly beside me through the tall grass. A dark smudge marks his cheek in accidental symmetry to the large bruise I know is blooming on the other. His gear is ragged already, cloak patched, trousers torn, these weeks have been hard on us all, but it's the grim set of his mouth that frightens me. The terror of the last few hours I know will fade for nothing can truly cow my cousin for long. The grief, so piercing now in the wake of our loss, will mellow to a bruising ache in time and it is with laughter that he will remember our companion. These things will pass and his cheerful heart and nimble mind will find them a place to live beside his more joyful memories.  
  
No, what has caught me in its fearsome grasp is the sight of my own demon riding him into the ground, the soul crushing guilt he has taken on himself for these dreadful events. And while he has always been there to pull me from my dark reflections, I have no idea how to help him now. His cheek has never led to such dire consequences and for all his mischief and reckless acts he has been remarkably lucky in this. But not this time, oh no, not this time. No one really blames him, it is doubtful we'd have passed those awful doors without encountering the enemy in any case, but he'll not se that, only the foolish action that precipitated our doom.  
  
I cannot speak to draw him out for fear of our pursuers and there is no time for rest or comfort yet, but it cuts me to the quick to see him so downtrodden, so silent though his fee stumble wearily ahead. My hand finds his, almost by habit, and I feel his fingers clench tightly about my own, a lonely tear streaking down his dirty cheek. He doesn't look back at me but forward now, to the sheltering trees ahead, and determination, that vaunted Tookish stubbornness he has aplenty, sets his face. The look of shattered self-reproach is gone, at least for now, and dark worry looses its hold on my ragged breath. Some last shreds of innocence may have been torn aside, but it will temper his spirit, not break it, and the thought nearly makes me smile. Dear, irrepressible, fearless Pip. He treads such a fine line between the carefree, tender-hearted youth he has always been and the bold and clever companion that he wishes to be. I would rather less dire circumstances had served to mature him, and yet.  
  
I can almost hear his thoughts, like the whispered words of the child he once was, determined to set things aright, and I remember he knows more of forgiveness than I.  
  
*'I cannot make this unhappen, but I can give my all to make amends. Upon my honor, I will make amends.'*  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Can nothing rid me of this awful habit of acting without thought? It's true that I'd have been whipped a hundred times more and likely died a dozen pointless deaths through my own foolishness without my cousin's clever tongue and steady head, and that before we ever thought of leaving the Shire. But this, oh heavens, this cannot be undone or escaped, I cannot talk my way past these results and this time the price is just too high.  
  
I should have turned back at Rivendell. No elf would have made such mistakes, no man could have shown less caution, less foresight, less restraint. An ill choice with disastrous consequences. My father would be proud.  
  
I feel Merry's hand, warm and hard, catch mine and I cling to it like the child I keep trying to leave behind. Oh, my friend, what will we do? I've done more this day to check Frodo's task than the Dark Lord himself. What I wouldn't give for an ounce of the calm and good sense you possess, to be of use as more than another mouth to feed, a child to guard from his own stupidity.  
  
I cannot change the past, but what comes next is still mine to choose. There will be no repeat of this, and, oh, I can't replace him, not even in the smallest way, but I'll be a burden and a fool no longer. Upon my honor, I will make amends. 


End file.
